After George’s supposed death, I couldn’t bring myself to use them—but I also refused to have them destroyed.
Decades later, the original clinic closed, and the preserved material was transferred to another medical center. When they finally managed to locate me, I learned that one viable embryo still remained.
It was our last chance. 
I knew all the dangers. The doctors had tried repeatedly to change my mind. But I had made the decision while fully aware of every risk.
“Why didn’t you tell us anything?” Michael whispered.
I looked at him.
“I was going to tell you. But when you learned about the pregnancy, your first question wasn’t about your sister’s health. You asked whether she would have inheritance rights.”
A heavy silence fell over the courtroom.
George approached and held our little girl for the first time. His hands trembled.
“I’m forty-six years late,” he whispered, “but I’m not going anywhere again.”
